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[gelatinous-lobega]

I have depression.

It’s heavy.

It’s silent.

It’s dark.

No one quite knows how to respond when you say it.

They feel the weight that word carries as it envelops their shoulders.

Their jaw slams shut.

It’s as if they see the darkness as it begins to cloud my body.

The way they treat you changes.

Instead of anger, it becomes quiet concern

Instead of laughter, it becomes whispers.

“Are you okay?”

“How are you doing?”

“No, how are you REALLY doing?”

But worst of all, instead of the way it once was, you become broken glass.

They are afraid to touch you. To echo familiar stories.

They begin to see you as fragile. Weak. Different.

And that difference makes a difference.

You see, it’s hard.

You are constantly fighting the thoughts inside your own brain.

But this quiet stigma creeps in, almost as quietly as the darkness itself.

And suddenly, you aren’t only fighting your thoughts, but defying other’s expectations.

Not only do you struggle to get out of bed, now you need to run a mile too.

Instead of just fighting your own thoughts of inadequacy, now you have to deal with the guilt of having let down your team.

It piles on in great, steaming spade loads.

The days are so much longer.

The hours go by so slowly.

The years seem to drag on and it’s as if you can’t

see an end.

Everything within you says the pain will continue eternally, right to eternity.

The darkness consumes the tunnel so far that it dries up all of the light that was once within it.

And then it greedily eats at my brain until there is nothing left.

I become the depression that threatens to take me over at every turn.

It feels like I can never win.

I am the darkness.

And I must stay silent.